Son of Prime
by madwriter223 -TF
Summary: The firstborn of the current Prime has tradtionally been raised and groomed to be the next Prime. Starscream, as Optimus Prime's firstborn, has always been raised knowing he will be a Prime. Answer to a bunny. Info inside


Bunny by eerian_sadow of lj - basically the first two sentences are the bunny.

**A Son of Prime**

The First-Born of the current Prime has traditionally been raised and groomed to be the next Prime. Starscream, as Optimus Prime's firstborn, has always been raised knowing he will be a Prime. Ever since he first onlined, that knowledge had been pounded into him.

He had to be well-behaved because a Son of Prime should not disbehave. He had to be intelligent, the knowledge poured into him carefully choosen. He had to be an excellent fighter, because no Son of Prime had ever been bested in battle. He had to be perfect in everything he did.

He sometimes wondered what good that all brought him considering he was locked away in the Iacon High Tower.

Ever since he had first onlined, he had been isolated from the world. Never allowed outside, never allowed to even consider such a thought. He was to stay inside, where it was safe, no matter how much he wanted to go. After all, a Son of Prime shouldn't want to stoop so low to want to meet with the commoners.

And that was what he was. A Son of Prime.

He had been given everything that was the best. The best Energon, the best nanny-bots and caretakers, the best teachers. Everything he had been provided with had been carefully investigated and servo-picked to ensure its highest quality.

Even his friends.

Though maybe 'friends' is too strong a term. Each youngling he had been forced to play with had been instructed specifically on how to act around 'the future Prime' and, despite a young age, had stuck to those lessons.

Which basically meant no name-calling, allowing him to have his way in everything they did, no playing rough, no helping him with anything, asking no personal questions and the like. In other words, no fun at all.

It came as no surprise, at least to him, that one day he had stood up and left his 'friends' – they were happier without being forced to keep him company anyway. Instead, he turned to the one thing that wasn't fake.

Knowledge.

He had always been smart. His Creator had once told him that he practically drunk everything in, not even pausing in his curiousity of the world. He hoped it had been uttered in pride, but it was damn difficult to see anything because of the damn face mask.

He sometimes wondered why the mech wore it. It was on during each of his limited visits with the Prime, hiding half of his facial-plates from view, making it so much more difficult to read him. And read him Starscream did, trying to figure out what really lay hidden behind his Creator's seemingly calm exterior, his soft voice and kind optics.

Considering their relentionship (short, supervised visits, barely any contact outside of them, never without a caretaker in the background) they were practically strangers. He knew that being Prime was hard work, and that it took a lot of time. But did it really take enough of it to deny spending time with him? He was the First-Born, the Successor. A genius, a fighter even at a tender age, with nomech able to defeat him. He was given everything, denied nothing but freedom to go outside. Was he still not good enough?

His caretakers had exploited that thought, urging him to best himself in his studies, his training, his beliefs. He did everything so that his Creator would be proud of him.

For a time.

When he was nearing his two-hundredth vorn, he started growing restless. He wanted to go outside, to see the world he was supposed to lead one day. He no longer listened when his caretakers tried to tell him what to think, how to feel about everything.

A Son of Prime shouldn't this, shouldn't that. Well, tough.

He had found his way outside, thank you very much. He knew the High Tower like the back of his servo, he knew which code opened which door, how to evade the security cameras, which guards to avoid and which to manipulate with learned charm.

He had managed to twist his way outside, eventually. It had been worth the effort.

The first breem of freedom he spent staring at the sky. It was enormous. Bigger than he ever imagined, bigger than he thought possible. And it was beautiful. Littered with thousands, millions of stars, all of them twinkling at him.

He didn't ever care that he could recite their molecular properties half-recharging. Those weren't even close to describing their beauty.

And then he flew. The first time he flew in the real sky, not the artificial one he had mastered in his tenth vorn. With real wind, playfully licking at his wings, making him have to work on staying on course, leading him here and there almost as if in mischief.

His sensors had never been happier.

Eventually he had to return, lest his caretakers or Prime learned about his little independent move. But he came back. Ever cycle he could, he ditched his stiffling 'home' and went for a fly against the sky. It was the highlight of his whole life – those few joors when no one was telling him how a Son of Prime should be acting, talking, _thinking_. It was just him, and the wind.

Nearly a whole vorn later, it stopped being just him.

It started out small. A blip on his radar, signaling somemech else was also in the sky. Solar-cycles of being told it wasn't safe outside did have an effect on him, because he shielded his presence, and remained cautious.

A few orns later, he got a visual. Two dots of colour, following him around, thankfully from a large distance at first. They never ventured close enough for him to figure out what they were, but he still got the distinct feeling they knew what he was.

Three orns later, his curiousity got the better of him, and he landed on a roof, keeping an optic on the two dots, and waited. He was a Son of Prime, a superb fighter and a proven genius. He wouldn't let himself feel threaten by the unknown.

The unknown should be threatened by _him_.

Turned out he shouldn't have worried (not like he had, but still). The two dots had turned out to be two flyers, just as old as him. One blue, the other black and purple.

Thundercracker and Skywarp. Seekers, like him.

Thundercracker was calm and smart. He was witty and sarcastic, but had an odd gentleness about him. He was careful around Starscream, but never overly cautios like all the other's in his life.

Skywarp was his opposite. He was brash, more than often asking a question that left Starscream gaping in shock or embarrassment. He joked constantly, and poked playful fun at him. Called him 'Screamer', and ignored the shrieked demands to stop.

They were odd and wonderfully un-fake.

They became his friends. Real friends. They flew with him, and talked with him about everything and nothing. They weren't his followers, but his companions. They never tried to act their best around him, quite the opposite. They wheedled him into pulling manouvers he had never been taught, urging him to fly as close to them their plating nearly touched.

Skywarp even taunted him into a race.

Turned out he was faster than them. Both of them. The way Skywarp was staring at him in awe indicated he may just be the fastest thing out there. He hadn't known that, mostly cause he never had another flyer to compare with.

Now he did. He found himself lacking in so many aspects of life it felt oddly refreshing. He knew everything a scientist should, but barely anything about life outside. He was a wonderful fighter, but had never wrestled for fun. He was a great flyer, but lacked 'a sense of adventure' as Warp called it.

What he lacked, they taught him. What they didn't know, he explained to them. He was happy, and free, and not alone. For at least a few joors a cycle.

The rest of the time, he spent stuck in a stiffling place with rules he saw less and less sense in. He started questioning his environment more and more. Why should he be isolated in the High Tower? Why was he taught how to behave in a certain way? Who decided what that 'certain way' should be? Why was the knowledge given him inconsistent with that he found himself? Why was he never allowed time alone with his Creator?

Why was he always called 'the Son of Prime' instead of 'Starscream'?

The time went on, and he found more and more questions. Eventually, he started asking them. Repeating them when the answer seemed false or pre-planned or rehearsed. Unrelenting, stubborn, he repeated them time and time again, wanting to know, but willing to see who would provide them. He wanted to know who he could trust within his 'home'.

No one proved truthful enough.

But that was fine. He always knew they couldn't be trusted, not really, so it was best he stopped deluding himself there could be at least one.

Outside those walls waited two.

Two beautiful seekers that were growing more and more bold in their touches, more teasing in their behaviour, more willing to let their servos linger on his frame.

He wasn't that stupid not to know what it meant. They were courting him. And he allowed them to, he courted them right back. Welcomed the touches, answered teasing with teasing. Nearly exloded with joy at the first kiss.

And at the second kiss.

And the third.

The fourth.

And at the thousand that followed.

He wasn't afraid they wanted to use him for their own gain. He trusted them, as naive as that sounded. Trusted them not to break him, to know how much he was willing to give without him saying it.

And they did. Never asked for too much (though Warp pouted _so_ many times), never tried to talk him into allowing more. Kissed him, caressed him, welcomed the caresses he gave them. Were happy with that.

Then came the cycle Starscream himself was no longer happy with just that, and TC and Warp were more than happy to oblige.

But he had to return to the High Tower after every wonderfully raw-pleasured time spent with the two. Return to walls that seemed to close in with all their lies. With caretakers that 'knew best' what he needed, or how he should be. With lessons of manipulation, and politics, preparing him to lead the world in the future.

There was no doubt in his Spark he would be nothing more than a puppet-leader at best.

What decisions was he supposed to make, when his whole life he had been controlled all the way down to his interpretation of facts? How should he lead a species he had never really met outside of school-bookfiles and overheard conversations of servants? How was he supposed to care for a planet he was not allowed to know nor see nothing of? What kind of a leader would he be, if he were to follow the Counsil's directives, in the meantime spark an offspring for strangers to raise?

No.

He decided to leave. He didn't pack anything, because there was nothing he wanted to keep, with the exception of a bookfile Prime had given him (considering the look of surprise on his caretakers facial-plates the present had not been discussed with them). That he took with him.

Then he got out and left without a second glance.

After all, what did he leave behind? A younglinghood filled with fakely-friendly mechs, with knowledge that wasn't as much the truth as he had thought it was, a home devoid of happy memories, a Creator that never said 'I love you', that never had the time to get to know Starscream, not just His Son from the reports his caretakers had to be giving him. That probably hadn't been allowed to know him, and didn't fight for that right.

He didn't want the title anymore. He didn't want to be a Prime and spend the rest of his life like that – stuck in an office, controlled by the Counsil's decisions, not even able to visit with his son without someone breathing down his neck.

Still, he was his Creator, so he sent him a message right before he left for the last time.

_I'm happy now._

He hoped it was enough.

*~*

He really was happy now.

He found it astounding how much, sometimes. He was happy with his job, with having to earn things instead of them being given to him. He loved teaching little ones, watching them as they grew, helping them in their developing knowledge and their stumbles as they took their first independent steps.

He was happy with helping Warp around the shop after classes, and he enjoyed listening to the stories TC brought home after a shift as one of the City Guard. He loved being close to them, seeing them smile at him or feeling them kiss him.

He was happy with worrying about the decision he had to make, instead of having someone make them for him. He loved knowing that the decision he made was his own, no matter if it was good or bad.

He was happy with the Vosian sky. He loved being allowed to see it in the light of the day-cycle, to fly in it without restrictions.

He had been happy with their first tiny apartment. He liked their new, bigger one too. He loved being with his bondmates in both of them.

He was happy bearing a sparkling of his mates'. He loved being allowed to spoil the seekerlet with his presence as much as he wanted. He cherished each moment spent together with either his trine, his Creation or all of them.

He sometimes wondered about his Creator. He sometimes got the urge to send him a message. He hated not having the courage to do so.

He disliked the fear his location would be found, and he would be forced back, their sparkling stolen from him soon after to be raised as a Son of Prime.

TC told him it was a silly idea. The Airlord would never allow that. Seekers protected seekers, no matter where they came from, he said. Besides, Vos was practically a planet in itself. No groundling ventured here, no groundling dared.

The fear remained.

But Starscream didn't let it cloud his existance. He was happy here, with his trine, his sparkling, his students. With the time he could spend however and with whoever he wanted.

So he shook his depressing thoughts away, kissed both his bondmates, hugged his winglet, then sat all three of them down in front of him. He took out the bookfile of legends and myths he got from his Creator, and continued where they last left off.

He was happy he wasn't the Son of Prime anymore. He loved being just Starscream much more.

*~*

200 vorns is basically around 14-15 years of age. The rest I leave to your interpretation.


End file.
